Twist of Fate
by Joon
Summary: Winifred senses the future and then lives it. TVverse.


A storm was approaching. From her place on the cliff, Winifred could see the first flashes of lightening illuminate the skies, followed by the gentle booms of thunder. Stepping to the very edge of the rocky precipice, the sorceress stretched out a slender hand, feeling the space in front of her. She could feel the natural spark that was always present in the air during such weather pulsate. Her own magic responded in kind as she pressed against it. Judging by the jolt, the storm would be a fierce one.

Winifred closed her eyes, enjoying the weightless sensation the loss of her sight brought to her as the winds cradled her, keeping her back from tumbling over the edge and landing on the jagged rocks below. The strong breeze was cool, but still retained a hint of the summer that had only recently departed. From behind her lids she saw a muted burst of light, indicating another lightening bolt. Even if she had not seen it, she felt the power within her flare up at the storms approach. A day like this was idea for wizards o utilize to amplify their own magic. A wry smile graced Winifred's lips as she imagined the hordes of sorcerers who would be spending the next several hours channeling the storm, too preoccupied with culling its energy to simply enjoy watching it occur.

_"Oh, do not be so common, Winifred,"_ she heard her mother scold._ "Any fool can _watch_ a storm."  
_

Winifred had long learned that it was a lost endeavor to try and please her mother. The older sorceress was too contradictory a creature, chiding her only daughter for taking pleasure in such simple acts as watching a storm when she could be using it. And yet reprimanding her for staying up all night, poring over the spells brought to her. Her parent wanted her to find some sort of tenuous balance and the young sorceress felt the search for one wasted too much of her time.

And while she found her mother's reprimands annoying, she understood her mother well enough to not resent her for them. Winifred knew that she too was a creature of contradictions and could hardly hate someone for the same traits. For all the love she had for life's simple pleasures, there were times when nothing pleased her more than demonstrating the force of the magic that had been naturally given to her. Her past displays had all but frightened off half the sorcerers who had until then often called her on. It was yet something else that had not pleased her mother.

As if to appease her non-present parent and her unspoken chiding for wasting a storm, Winifred opened her eyes and flexed her fingers. A small ball of blue flame swirled up in the palm of her hand. It flared all the more brightly when another jagged line of lightening fell from the skies. The sorceress extinguished the fire and gave her full attention back to the silver blue clouds that shifted against the building wind.

The roll of thunder was interrupted by the sound of footsteps; strong, measured footfalls that easily identified the new arrival immediately. Keeping her gaze facing forward, Winifred's smile shifted from wry to pleased, if a bit surprised.

"I thought you'd be attempting your new spell today, Hrothbert," she addressed. "The weather is perfect for it." The sorceress cast a side glance toward the tall figure who now stood to her left, joining her at the crag's edge.

"I wished to obtain your opinion of the spell first," he replied, meeting her side glance with one of his own. "There will be other storms. I can wait.

"There will be other times to hear my opinion," said Winifred, knowing full well how he never wasted such weather.

The sorcerer grinned slightly, tilting his head to gaze at her more fully. "True. But I could not wait."

Winifred did not return his glance, but did not hide the smile at the comment either. Hrothbert had a way of offering compliments that could just as easily be construed as demands. Not very conventional, but then nothing about Hrothbert of Bainbridge was conventional.

"What is your opinion of the spell?" he inquired. "Had you a chance to look at it?"

"Oh, yes," replied Winifred. While most admirers brought her flowers or jewelry that she often let languish in the corners of her house, Hrothbert brought her spells and his research notes, which she pored over the day of receiving them. The spell he had presented to her was clever, much like the sorcerer himself. And as always, it toed the line of unacceptable in terms of method.

By a measure against his peers, Hrothbert was powerful, though there were a number of other sorcerers she could think of who had the same amount of natural magic within them. The difference was that Hrothbert's ambitions never rested when it came to finding new ways to utilize his magic. If there were six known methods to performing a transportation spell, he would search for a seventh. Even if it meant dabbling on the edges of spell casting a little darker and more dangerous than the commonly used. It was a drive that Winifred found somewhat disconcerting, but addictively intriguing.

"And?" prompted the sorcerer, breaking into her thoughts.

"I am certain the incantation will work," replied Winifred. "Your variation is very elegant, though I cannot say much for its worth."

There were scores of people who would have been terrified at her insolence toward the infamous sorcerer. But knowing her own power, Winifred merely looked up at her companion, who only seemed surprised.

"You see no value in summoning the Lethe Daemon?" he asked.

"A method already exists, which works just as well."

The sorcerer made a derisive sound. "That spell only allows for one to learn a fraction of the knowledge the Lethe holds. With mine you can learn near five times as much."

"Very commendable," applauded Winifred, her praise half genuine and half sardonic. "It also allows the Lethe to see who has summoned it. I would think the Council would find that small flaw in your spell a bit unappealing."

"The Council would hardly notice it."

"Why not? I did."

"You are different," he argued. "I know you are too intelligent not to see it."

"Your flattery does not change the nature of your spell, Hrothbert," chided Winifred, her reprimand losing strength as a pleased expression tainted her features. Hrothbert only smiled back at her failed scolding. "Do you really wish to make such enemies?" she asked with a sigh.

The sorcerer shrugged, facing back out toward the cliff. "A teacher of mine once told me a man can measure his own power by the number of formidable enemies he makes in his lifetime."

"That seems a rather unnecessarily strenuous way of measuring one's worth," observed Winifred, lifting an eyebrow.

Hrothbert chuckled at the comment, enjoying its irreverence. "Then perhaps I'll measure mine by how I can affect the world," he mused. "What importance will I be if I cannot harness my magic and bend it in any way I choose?"

The arrogance he carried was something Winifred found at times exasperating. And yet, she could not help but admire it, though her better judgment warned her otherwise. Hrothbert was cleverer than most men and only half as wise. And yet there were times when she looked at him, as she did now, that she knew that his words were born of more than simple conceit. It usually came to her in vague sensations, but at this moment, staring at the familiar face that she grew fonder of with each meeting, the sorceress knew without a doubt just how extraordinary he would become.

"I would not worry, Hrothbert," she pronounced, softly. "When you are old and grey, I am certain you will be practicing magic like none other."

"Old and grey? Must I wait so long?" he asked. While his tone was light, almost teasing. The stare in his pale eyes was serious, giving her a level of consideration she'd never seen the equal to from anyone.

"Yes," she answered with happy confidence. "And I shall be there to bear witness," she added, uncertain of why she had that afterthought, though it did feel right to say it.

"So you shall be old and grey as well, I take it."

Before Winifred could reply, a sharp gust of wind struck her. The force of it only signaled the closeness of the storm, but the chill was something she'd never felt before. Unlike earlier, all traces of summer were gone from the blast and the frigid air seemed to cut through her heavy clothing, seeping into her very bones.

But as quickly as the cold grasped her, it was replaced by a thick warmth that enveloped her in the form of a dark cloak. It wrapped around her, its ends held securely shut by a strong hand. The residual body heat from the cloak's owner was doubled by the man himself who stood closer to her, warding off the wind.

For a fleeting moment, Winifred thought how silly it was that she be bundled so awkwardly in Hrothbert's cloak that practically swallowed her. She was not a child nor in need of protection against a simple breeze. But then she noticed the slightly stiff way he held her, the stillness of his limbs contrasting against the rapid pounding of his heart that she could feel through four layers of clothing. Without glancing up at his face, she realized he was nervous at the sudden closeness, despite having initiated it. Carefully, she pressed closer, enjoying the warmth as well as its source. She soon felt the sorcerer's arm relax around her.

"And what about you?" he suddenly asked her.

Winifred buried her chin into the cloak. "Hm?"

"How would you measure my worth, Winifred?"

The sorceress paused, thinking it over. "I would not. To measure you properly, I would need to trap you," she answered. "And I would never do such a thing."

"Even if I gave you my consent?" he murmured.

Winifred suddenly felt the magic flowing within her veins churn brightly and knew it had nothing to do with the storm. She buried herself more deeply into the warmth as Hrothbert's embrace tightened. "If I do, you shall have to trap me as well," she replied with a quiet smile. "It would only be fair," she added, knowing full well that without much ceremony, they had already done so.

* * *

A storm was approaching. From her place on the cliff Winifred could see the lightening as it was soon chased by thunder. And like the rest of the world after her return, that was all she could interpret. Standing on edge with bare feet, she curled her toes tightly around the sharp pieces of rock that littered the crag. As it always was, any sharp pain was now only muted as her senses remained half dead and useless. When she stretched out her hand, she could feel nothing. Not even the air or the cold that whipped around her. She was numb and the world seemed a counterfeit to her. 

If she concentrated with all her will, she could perhaps conjure up at least the memory of how a storm used to affect her. Of how energy and life used to spark and flow within her at such weather when she had her life before.

Her real life before her death.

But as much as tried to overlap her memories onto her reality now, she only knew of the storm by what her eyes and ears told her. She could not feel it, she could not embrace and mingle with it as she had before with her own magic. _I am a ghost,_ she thought bitterly. _No, I am alive,_ she told herself just as quickly. _He has brought me back._ By the force of his own unique adoration, he'd ripped her back.

But even as she thought this, a pain twisted within her, calling her to return to where she belonged. Back to the void from where she'd been snatched from, but only in pieces. The most precious parts of her, her magic, still remained in the darkness of death. She tugged at the ragged tear in her frock, left over from where she had stabbed herself earlier in the week. The damage to the fabric remained, though the wound had closed up and healed within seconds.

"I am a ghost," Winifred whispered to herself, knowing it should be true. "I cannot be alive." And yet she was. He had trapped her to this half life.

Behind her, she heard heavy footsteps. She need not listen too carefully to identify who approached. It was Hrothbert. It was always him as no one else would see her now but him. He was saying something to her, though Winifred did not know what. Her attention was fixed in flexing her fingers again toward the coming storm, desperate to summon a memory of how her power had felt. But nothing came, other than the faint recollection of something warm enveloping her. The sensation seemed to descend upon her now, like a suffocating blanket, despite her efforts to forget. If only to escape the feeling as quickly as possible, Winifred took a step forward and leapt off the cliff without a second thought.

By the time Hrothbert reached where she had fallen, her body had already healed. Only the stains of blood on the rocks were testaments to any fatal injury. She watched as Hrothbert hurried over to her, noticing as if for the first time after all this while his stark white hair and the tired lines aging his face. A memory floated up in her scarred mind and she could faintly hear the echo of her own words, spoken what felt like a lifetime ago.

_It was a lifetime ago. My lifetime.  
_

And of all things, in recalling her own confident prophecy, Winifred felt an overwhelming urge to laugh and laugh. She clamped a blood-stained hand over her lips to stifle it, though a sharp chortle did escape. She saw Hrothbert frown at the sound, the lines on his face deepening in worry. He stretched out an arm toward her. When she grasped it, he felt as comforting as the stone that earlier had mercilessly broken her back when she had fallen. He felt as real as the rest of this world. Sullenly, Winifred let him lead her back to their cottage.

THE END


End file.
